One Step From Normal
by chasingafterstarlight
Summary: When tragedy strikes, Jade is left with the guilt, the blame, and her best friend Beck Oliver. Beck/Jade.


It's that time of night. That time when the sky goes from gray to black, and the trees turn from friendly to snappy, and six-year-old Jade West walks around, scuffling her feet against the rocky pavement. It's the time of night where she becomes the uncontested ruler of the neighborhood and no one, least of all stupid peppy cheerleading Tori Vega, can stop her.

She walks by the neighbors' house, where two wrinkly old people live with their drooly little grandkid that got left behind by his parents and their yappy little dog guards their picket-fence house. She walks by the two-doors-down neighbor's house, where some middle-aged guy that wears ugly stained tank tops always mows the lawn. And then she walks by the three-doors-down neighbor's house, which is always always empty, but not today. Today there is a light on.

Curiously, she creeps up a little closer to the house. For as long as she can remember, the house has been empty, the brown and green weeds hiding the dark blue wood with white trim. But today there is not a vine in sight. Today she sees a tiny brown boy who cocks open his window and beckons to her.

She stares back at him. Surely he's not talking to her. But then he beckons again, and she finds herself being pulled by some invisible force over to him.

"Who are you?" she asks.

"I'm Beck Oliver," he says, and he scratches behind his ear. "Who are _you_ , and why're you outside my house?"

"Not that you would know," she says, "but this is my watch time. I go 'round and make sure the neighborhood is nice and safe."

"What're you gonna do against a big bad guy?" He snickers.

Her face reddens. "I'm a big girl too! Plus I'm no dummy. I bring a knife from the kitchen with me, just in case." She pulls it out and shows it to him. It gleams in the moonlight.

"That's a butter knife," he points out.

"Yeah, so? It's a knife still."

"Butter knives can't hurt nobody," he says, pressing the tip of the knife against his skin. Jade winces, but relaxes when he removes it to show her the damage, or lack thereof.

She sighs. "I guess I'm a no-good watchperson then."

"Oh no, don't worry!" Beck says. He hands her the knife back and darts off. She stands outside the window, confused, but decides not to move in case he comes back. And he does. He thrusts another, sharper-looking knife out the window. "Here. This'll keep you safe, okay? But don't tell your mama I gave you it, cause then I'd maybe get in trouble."

"My lips are zipped."

"Thanks." He smiles. He has a nice smile.

"I'm Jade."

"You know, Jade, I think maybe I might like living here."

.

She shows up at his house every night. Sometimes he comes out of his room to join her on her watch, even though he's not supposed to. They walk around the neighborhood on their tippy-toes and she shows him all the secrets. She shows him the house where two guys live together, and they must be the best of friends, she says, because they're always together. She shows him the house with the white little puppy dog that's the cutest thing in the world, though she loathes using the word cute. Beck laughs and he smiles and he agrees at all the right times, and he's the perfect addition to her little watch squad.

He doesn't even mind when she makes comments that her mommy says are 'rude' and 'absolutely not becoming of a seven-year-old girl'. He laughs along and says she's funny. And she likes it. She likes him.

The tradition continues till they get out of elementary school, then Jade's mom discovers her sneaking out at night. She lies and says it was a one-time thing, but Jade's mom puts an alarm on the door anyway and Jade is so angry that she throws her mom's favorite porcelain doll into the wall and it shatters. Jade's mom doesn't talk to her for a week, and Jade thinks that maybe she went too far this time.

She sees him the next day at school, and he says, "You didn't come last night."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. My mom saw me when I was leaving and she said I wasn't allowed to go out so late anymore. it's stupid – parents are stupid – but now there's this dumb alarm on the door and it makes a really loud noise whenever I try to get out. I hate it. I hate her. And then I threw her dumb doll and it broke and she got really mad and…" Her lip quivers without her consent.

"It's okay, Jade. That really stinks, though." He makes a face. "Maybe there's some other way… I'll ask my mom if you can come over sometimes, okay? And then maybe you can get away from your mom."

"Okay," she says, and she smiles a little bit despite herself.

.

.

"Now, why are you and Beck fighting?" Her mom asks, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"He told one of his other friends that I'm "too much to handle sometimes," and he thought I wouldn't find out about it. Doesn't he know that I find out about everything?" Jade frowns, tossing her hair. "He's so stupid; it's unbelievable."

"Well, Jade," her mom says, eyes searching her head. "Have you been doing things to make him feel that way?"

"No, of course not," she says. "He's just mad 'cause last week Tori Vega tried to sit with us last week and I told her to find somewhere else to sit, preferably the trash can, and he got all protective of Vega for no real reason. I don't get it – I thought _I_ was his best friend, not Vega. Really, you'd think he would've learned by now."

Her mom shakes her head. "Jade, you really should be nicer to Tori. And also, life isn't a competition. Why can't Beck be friends with you and Tori?"

"Because it doesn't work that way!" Jade throws up her hands. "Tori and I are exact opposites – fire and ice, like that poem. Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"I'm always on your side, Jade," her mom replies patiently. "But I also want you to be the best person you can be, and given this latest thing with Tori –"

"You're on her side!" Jade scowls. "Of course you are, who isn't?"

"I'm not on anyone's side, Jade. Listen to me."

"Well then, you're not on my side either. I can't believe you!" Frustrated, Jade storms off, her head a flurry of thoughts. It's a point of desperation, she thinks, when even your mom won't take your side, and even your mom won't understand. She wishes she had the mother that's always in movies, the one that gives good advice and makes cookies and tells her daughter she's perfect just the way she is.

.

She is thirteen, and she is angst-ridden with all of the weight that comes with being a teenager. She is sitting on Beck's floor and she is angry.

"Can you believe my mom said I'm not allowed to date?" she asks, tugging at one of her brown curls. "Even _Vega_ is allowed to date, and she's more likely to slut it up than I am! But noooo, I can't date till I'm sixteen. She's so old-fashioned, and she's always out with these random guys, and I hate her. I hate her so much. She doesn't understand me at all!"

Beck's always calming brown eyes search her face. "Did you talk to her about it?"

"Yes. No. Does it matter? She wouldn't have listened anyways." Jade scowls. "She never listens to anything I have to say."

"You could try, at least." Beck sighs, leaning back. "Maybe she has a good reason for it, anyway. I wouldn't want you dating Ryder Daniels myself."

"Good thing you don't make decisions for me," she snaps back. "You know, you're almost as annoying as she is. Ryder Daniels asked me out because he likes me, and that's all I need, all right? I don't need you or anyone else giving me crap about it."

Beck opens his mouth, like he's going to say something, but then he shuts it. Jade rolls her eyes.

Her phone rings. She shoots Beck a confused look – hel - _lo_ , it's the twenty-first century and no one calls anymore, everyone just texts – but she opens it anyway. The voice on the other line is low, somber. "Is this Jade West?" 

"Yeah – who is this?"

"Your mother is Amanda West?"

"Yeah – who _are_ you?"

"My name is Dr. Smith, and I'm a doctor in the ICU at Hollywood General Hospital. I'm so sorry, but your mother was driving to get the groceries and she was hit by a drunk driver. She was killed on impact. There was nothing we could do. You were listed as her next of kin. We've also contacted your father, and custody arrangements will be made soon. I think it would be prudent for you to come to the hospital, though…"

The words are bullets, piercing through her skin. She hangs up. Beck stares at her. "Who was it?"

"Prank call," she mumbles. "I've got to go home."

"My mom can drive you," Beck offers.

"No thanks." She gets up, but her head is spinning. She crashes back down to the ground. She can hear him yelling, but she can't move, can't speak, can't breathe. Maybe this is the end of her, too. Wouldn't it be ironic?

.

When she wakes up, her head is thudding – _boom, boom, boom_ – against the back of something soft. Her eyes flutter open slowly. She looks over to her right and comes face to face with a window. Outside it is raining, murky raindrops falling onto wet trees. Turning to her left, she comes face to face with Beck.

He sighs. "You lied to me."

"I'm sorry."

"No – _I'm_ sorry. I'm sorry this is happening, Jade, I'm so, so sorry. But you can trust me, you know that? You don't have to lie to me. You can tell me, Jade. I want to help you." He stares ahead, tears leaking down his face. "You're my best friend."

"I'm scared, Beck."

"I'm scared for you."

Her hand meets his in the space between them, and their fingers intertwine. She can feel his heat and it's almost comforting in a way, but at the same time she is scared and she does not know what's going to happen, and it's terrifying. And the reality that the last thing she'd ever said to her mom was something cruel hits her. She'll never get to apologize. Never.

A tear leaks down her face. She wipes it away. "It'll be okay."

.

Her dad is waiting at the hospital. He says something about how he's so sorry, but Jade doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't love her mother – he never did. She just sits in a chair and puts her fingers in her ears and drowns it all out. It's the music of life turning to death, the sounds of the hospital. It hurts; it burns.

Her dad wants her to go to the house and pack up some of her stuff, but she doesn't want to. Beck volunteers to do it for her, and even though she knows the stuff he'll pick out probably won't match she lets him do it anyways. She just sits on the stone-cold bench at the hospital and stares straight ahead, eyes tracing the photo of a blossoming flower housed in an ugly metal frame across from her. Typical hospital décor.

Beck comes back with her suitcase, and her dad drives her home. He tries to talk, but she doesn't answer. She walks in the door and goes to her room from when she visits. Then she locks the door and she does not come out.

.

It is three years later, and she is sitting at her typical table outside of Hollywood Arts. Beck comes up and sets a coffee down in front of her. It smells like warmth and bitterness; it is her favorite scent. She half-smiles. "Thanks."

"How are you today?" he whispers.

"I'm fine," she says abruptly. "I just need to get to class."

"I know it's the anniversary, Jade," he says. "You can't keep me out forever."

"I'm not."

"You like to pretend it didn't happen."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Beck, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your voice down. You have no authority over me."

"Yes, I do. You don't talk to anyone else."

"Just cause you're Mr. Popular doesn't mean you can lord it over me," she hisses, spinning around, "and I don't need your help, and I don't need you to try and fix me, all right? I'm _fine_. Now can we talk about something else?"

"Whatever, Jade," he says with a sigh. "I'm just concerned."

"And that's fine, you can be concerned, but don't expect me to care."

He looks hurt, but in his typical resolute way he just continues following her and doesn't let any ounce of emotion out. And that's it; that's the way it goes.

.

The next day she wakes up and she can't move. Her body is lead; her mind is buzzing; her breath is sharp and quick. Her heart is pounding, pumping blood steadily, but she can't make herself move. Her head hurts. She forces herself to breathe in a natural pattern but it doesn't help much and she cries out.

"Jade," her dad says, poking his head in the door. "You're supposed to be up by now."

"I'm not – not going today," she forces out. "I'm sick."

"Okay," her father says, pressing his lips together into a straight line. "But you know, Jade, I won't be putting up with that delinquent behavior anymore. I'll believe you're sick this time, but not tomorrow, and not the next time, all right?"

She doesn't answer. She just waits for him to go out the door and then she pulls out her phone and texts Beck, _I need you_ , and her door opens again five minutes later.

.

"Maybe you should talk to someone about this," Beck says. She is leaned back against his chest, but when he says this she turns around and looks him straight in the eye.

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" she says.

"But I'm not a professional, Jade. I mean like a psychologist or a counselor or someone. I don't mean this to be offensive, but it has been three years, and it feels like you're only getting worse."

"I'm not, though," she says, glaring at him. "I'm the lead in the school play. I've got pretty decent grades. I have frien – I have you. That's all I need."

"But if you're feeling like this –"

"It doesn't matter, okay? I don't need any help. It's just one day."

"Okay," Beck relents, but he doesn't seem happy about it.

.

It is not just one day.

It is every day for a few successive weeks, and then her dad is forcing her out of bed and out the door but she can't go to school, she can't, and so sometimes she wanders around and sometimes she drives down the street and parks in a parking lot and just sits there in the car, alone. She doesn't eat, she can't sleep, and her head is always spewing out these awful thoughts – _it's all your fault, you shouldn't be alive, you should just kill yourself already, look what you're doing to Beck._ She loses her part in the play, and her grades start to drop. It feels like everything she's worked for is falling apart. She doesn't know how to stop it.

Beck seems to be getting more and more concerned, but dutifully he brings her the schoolwork she's missed and dutifully he tells the teachers she's got some kind of chronic disease, but she'll be back soon.

"I don't know why," she says when he asks. "I just can't."

"I want to help you, Jade," he says. "Let me help you."

"I don't need any help," she tells him. "I'm not crazy."

"Jade, do you remember when you first came to my house?" he asks, looking deep into her eyes. "You were a kid and you just had that butter knife and you were walking around the neighborhood alone at night, and I didn't even know you but I wanted to help protect you, so I gave you a real knife. Now I know you even better, and I want to help protect you. But you won't let me. It's so frustrating. Let me help you."

So she relents.

They go to a psychologist, and it takes her 30 minutes to get out of the car, but Beck stays there and patiently waits with her. They diagnose her with Major Depressive Disorder. She hates the label. They give her medication, and she stares at the bottle. She swears to Beck she's never going to take it.

"What if it helps?" he asks.

"They can't fix me," she says. "I'm not broken." 

.

It gets worse.

She thinks if she was on a roller coaster, this would be the point at which you reach the bottom of the drop, the point at which you feel as though you're going to collide into the earth but you don't, you never do. Except she's stranded there, and she's still falling, and all she wants is to hit the ground. Because at least then it'll be over.

She sits on the floor of her bathroom. She cradles a bottle of pills in her hands, staring at the way they move in the bottle. They're white, speckled with gray, and they hit the side of the bottle and make a quiet thud. She imagines what it would be like to take them and not have to feel anymore. They'd slip down her throat, one by one, and then the feeling would slowly go away. There'd be nothing else to feel.

She puts one in her mouth.

It doesn't taste like anything. With a sip of water, it goes down easily. So does the next one, and the next one, and the next one – eventually she loses count. And her vision is starting to blur, but then something becomes apparent, real, in her vision. Dark, shaggy hair, brown eyes that are pleading with her – _don't leave me, please_ – and she staggers to her feet, drags herself to her phone, and calls 911.

.

The hospital is cold, stark, and white. They give her some medicine to make her throw up and then keep her for psychiatric observation for a few days. When she was younger, she'd been in the hospital with pneumonia. People had stopped by and brought teddy bears, balloons, flowers, and get-well cards. No one stops by now. No one brings her get-well cards.

No one except Beck, who sits down in one of the ugly plastic gray chairs beside her bed and asks her, "Why?"

"I'm sorry," she says.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he says, and he buries his head in her arm. "You were going to take yourself away from me."

"I was an idiot. I thought that it was all my fault – my mother's death. And I thought that now I was hurting you, too, and I didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. I just wanted it all to be over. Then I could be with my mother again," she says. "But – I saw you. You told me not to."

"I did?" he asks, confused.

"I'm not crazy," she affirms. "I swear you were there, and you told me not to leave you. So I called 911 and they came and got me, and now I'm here. I'm sorry. I promise I'll never do it again."

"You are crazy," he says with a laugh. "You're the furthest thing from normal. But, well, normal's boring, and easy's boring, and you're still here with me. But you've got to promise never to do it again, Jade. You have to promise me you'll get help."

She nods. "I'll try."

"That's my girl."

"I hate you," she retorts, one corner of her mouth curving up.

Then he presses his lips against hers, just a peck, but enough for her to deduce how it feels, how she feels – how in love with him she is, and has been, though she's never thought to show it before now. "Jade, it wasn't your fault. We're going to help you get better," he promises, and he kisses her forehead. "I love you."

"I know." She smirks. He swats at her.

.

Ever since that night, the drugs scare her. She's scared that she might lose control and accidentally take too many, but she doesn't say this to Beck. Instead, she just tells him that she thinks the drugs will change her brain and no thanks, she'd rather stay Jade.

"Well yeah, they change your brain," Beck says, rolling his eyes. "But just the messed-up part of it."

She crosses her arms. "What part of me _isn't_ messed up?" 

"All right, well. The sick part of it."

"Some would argue that all of my brain is sick."

"You're impossible." He sighs. "The doctors said your release was conditional on you taking your medicine _daily_ and also attending psychologist appointments regularly. So unless you want me to call Dr. Smith again…"

"Fine," she relents, and she places one of the smooth oval pills on her tongue. She gulps it down. It makes her feel like she's going to vomit.

He smiles. "I'm proud of you."

She isn't too proud of herself, really, but she nods and pretends like she's done something good.

.

They become a part of her daily routine. Get up, get dressed, pull on some clothes, eat breakfast, take your medication. Her dad smiles at her when she gulps down the OJ with her pill. He'd been there when she'd woken up at the hospital, initially. It was the first time she'd seen worry on his face since, well, her mother died. He'd hugged her and said, "I thought I was going to lose you too."

She tells her dad goodbye and heads out the door to school, where Beck is waiting for her with a hot, steaming coffee. The scent is comforting. She hugs him. He kisses the top of her head.

After school, he drives her to the psychologist, and today it only takes her fifteen minutes to drag herself out of the car. "A new record," he teases her when they get out, and she punches him in the arm.

It's difficult. Growing up she'd thought math was difficult, or maybe science, but this is a new level of difficulty. It's not something she'd thought she'd ever have to do.

But now it is. She sits down in the chair across from the psychologist and raises her eyebrow.

The psychologist asks, "What would you like to talk about today, Jade?"

"I want to talk about my mother," she says slowly.

"I'm proud of you."

"My mother died when I was sixteen," Jade says, "and I was awful to her. But I'm not going to make the same mistakes again. It was partially my fault. I still feel guilty. God, it's so stupid."

After her session, Beck drives her home. He turns the radio to some stupid blathery pop song. She scowls and changes it to the heavy metal station. He laughs. "You know, I've missed this side of you."

"Me too," she says. "Now, there are some things we need to discuss since we're, you know, dating or whatever. First of all, you are _not_ allowed to greet Vega in the hallway, because she practically floods the hallway whenever you look at her…"

He interrupts her with a loud laugh and then a, "Come on, she's sweet," which only causes her to rant even more (and even more loudly). It's not normal, exactly; they're coming back from a psychologist appointment, and she's crazy (or something like it). But it's almost normal. It's one step from normal.

It's the closest she's been to normal in three years. And, what do you know, it's not so bad.

Normal's boring, anyway.

.

A/N: I tried to write Bade for their anniversary. I'm one day late. Anyway, hope you enjoy this fic, and please leave a review if you did. Also, if you're having any signs of depression or any other mental illness, please feel free to message me. This is a subject that's very close and personal to me, and since I've seen 1283928 fics where it's just been mistreated and made into something romanticized and weird, I decided to take a more realistic standpoint. I hope you all enjoy!


End file.
